


Jack Morrison: Failure

by skyjacklegion



Series: more heroes [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, ur welcome, welp it's gay and there's blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 09:31:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7355500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyjacklegion/pseuds/skyjacklegion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You know,” Gabe says, stealing Jesse’s cigar. “You’re a piece of shit sometimes.”</p>
<p>Jack doesn’t disagree.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jack Morrison: Failure

Jack’s always been good at following orders, unless he’s the one giving them. “Look after yourself.” He says, ignoring the blood sluicing down his arm like a goddamn river. “Heal up”

“I’ve got your back.” He says, with his own to the wall.

The worst days are when he forgets. He grabs his rifle, piles into a transport and shoots and shoots until he can’t remember when he wasn’t. Once a soldier, always a soldier. Boots on pavement, fingers on triggers. The environment changed but stayed the same, alleyways and trees, bolt-holes and fences. 

“Target rich environment” he says to the wall, unable to take his hands off his rifle in an empty room. 

Fuck, he’s messed up.

__

 

“You know,” Gabe says, stealing Jesse’s cigar. “You’re a piece of shit sometimes.”

Jack doesn’t disagree. He does, however, look over his shoulder with a grin. His jacket’s blowing dramatically in the wind as he looks over at the ocean, and he can almost  _ feel _ Gabe’s disgust. 

“Fuck off, Angel.” 

Taking a drag of the cigar, Gabe waits a long moment before he puffs out a perfect smoke ring. “See what I mean?” 

Jesse’s snickering to himself, sprawled on his back, hand reaching for a cigar Gabe’s keeping just out of his reach. The boats come in beneath them, Ilios a sea of white domed roofs and blue accents. Mediterranean, right off a postcard. 

Jack’s still got blood on his boots. Angela’s down there somewhere with Winston, making sure everyone’s still breathing and he can’t bring himself to head down to the docks, not when the picture perfect postcard behind them is still riddled with bullet holes. 

Gabe’s hand on his shoulder is warm, steady and just a little clammy, squeaking against the leather as he pulls Jack back to sit with them, Jesse’s stupid hat landing unceremoniously on his head. 

Jack’s a piece of shit, sometimes. Mostly because he hates them a little.

__

Honestly, it’s disgusting how easy it is. Gabe startles when Jack grabs his shirt and hauls him in, the kiss more teeth than anything else. It’s hard to feel things when you feel  _ everything _ and Gabe’s hands are warm, heavy on his hips as he forces him back against the wall, leans in and takes. 

“It should’ve been me.” Gabe says against his mouth, the start of something bitter curling up his spine. Jack doesn’t disagree, although he sort of does. Gabriel Reyes has always been about the hard line, the truth, the many over the few. That won’t work when they’re supposed to be saving the goddamn world from itself. There’s too many egos, too much baggage to  _ not _ give everyone some individual attention. 

He doesn’t ask for any himself, but that’s okay. That’s fine. 

__

It falls apart spectacularly. Gabe’s face is a mess and Jack’s isn’t much better, blood in his eyes and dripping down to his boots. He snarls, rifle high against his heavily bruised shoulder. 

“If you’d just  _ listened _ -” Gabe says, spitting out blood. Wipes at his mouth. 

They’re both eyeing the guns he’d dropped, mere feet away from the heavy ticking. The fighting upstairs is sort of terrifying to listen to, all screams and shouting and the heavy blaster fire that sets Jack’s blood to boiling. 

"Gabriel-” He starts, shocked at how his voice sounds. How he’s  _ pleading _ . The fire burning in the stairwell behind him is sucking all the air out of the room. Leaving him light headed. 

Tired. 

“Don’t, Jack.” The only consolation is that Gabe sounds as wrecked as he does. Just as short of breath.

The ticking stops, and so does the world.

__

Jack’s not a good person. He’s not a kind person. He does what needs doing, hates the people he cares about and wishes he was dead so often it makes his chest ache.

But when they call, he goes. 

Old habits die hard, and he’s still got blood on his boots.

  
  



End file.
